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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29119257">you paint dreamscapes on the wall</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/merely_indifferent/pseuds/merely_indifferent'>merely_indifferent</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Community (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dreamatorium POV, M/M, if this reads like a TARDIS POV Doctor Who fic no it doesn't</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:01:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,967</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29119257</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/merely_indifferent/pseuds/merely_indifferent</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dreamatorium watches Troy and Abed over the years</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Troy Barnes/Abed Nadir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>87</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you paint dreamscapes on the wall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a weird, experimental fic, so I hope I pull it off okay. Title is from Taylor Swift's "peace."</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At the beginning of it all are several cardboard tubes, a roll of orange tape, and two boys, standing in the middle of the room.</p><p>The Inspector, the one whose mind inhabits every inch of the room, gazes around in wonder. She is brand new and ancient at the same time, and she can feel the Inspector's excitement and wild emotionality crashing into the walls, causing them to shimmer in and out of reality.</p><p>He says, “Welcome to the Dreamatorium, Troy.”</p><p>The Constable, the one whose warmth softens the harsh corners of the room, wears an expression of wonder too. But he is not looking at her. </p><p>He is staring at the Inspector - <em> her </em> Inspector - and he is in awe.</p><p>They are in love, but they don’t know this yet.</p><p>The Dreamatorium knows. She always knows. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>The boys leave, and return in rag-tag costumes.</p><p>“Alright,” the Constable says in a truly horrid cockney accent. “Show me how this works, Inspector.” He pronounces it as <em> In-spec-tah, </em>and he shifts his weight from foot to foot in anticipation.</p><p>Her Inspector gestures to the web of cardboard tubes and empty boxes. “This is the Dreamatorium’s engine,” he says, gently tapping the structure with his fingers. “And it runs on us, my dear Constable. We keep this old girl running.”</p><p>“Cool,” the Constable whispers, breaking character for just a moment. </p><p>“When I set our surroundings,” her Inspector instructs, “just let the Dreamatorium work her magic. Let yourself see what I see.”</p><p>The Constable nods and finally lets both feet rest on the floor.</p><p>Her Inspector nods back, smiling.</p><p>“Render environment: main deck of the X-7 Dimensionizer.”</p><p>And the Dreamatorium comes to life. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>The Dreamatorium sees her boys nearly every day, and she always takes them on the most wonderful adventures.</p><p>The Dreamatorium takes the boys to Tatooine, places blasters in their hands, and delights in their defense of the townspeople against an ancient monster lurking within the sand. </p><p>She guides them to Neverland, where they run hand in hand from an enemy of their own joyful creation. They fly between the stars, laughing, clapping, placing constellations of each other in the sky.</p><p>She shows them every wonder of their own planet too - Mount Fuji, the Taj Mahal, the Kremlin in Moscow. They traverse backwards in time to see the first Olympics and the moon landing, and they extend billions of years into the future to watch Andromeda collide with the Milky Way, explosions of stardust and planets painting a terrible masterpiece across the cosmos. </p><p>Sometimes, in between their grand adventures, they return to Tatooine just to watch the twin suns sink beneath the horizon. In those moments, there is no villain to destroy, no storyline to follow. Just two boys in their own world. </p><p>The Constable rests his head upon her Inspector’s shoulder, the world turning a soft pink, and she realizes she loves them more than anything else in the universe. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>The familiar sound of her Inspector's feet against the floor reverberates throughout the Dreamatorium. She watches as he gently shuts the door behind him. He doesn’t lock it. He doesn’t need to. </p><p>He walks to the middle of the room and stands still, costumeless and alone.</p><p>“Execute simulation, Troy/Abed,” her Inspector says.</p><p>The Dreamatorium pushes back. They’ve been here before, and it never ends well for her Inspector. </p><p>“Execute simulation, Troy/Abed,” he says again, insistent this time. He is trembling, but his voice is steady. His eyes dart around the empty space, waiting. </p><p>It will hurt when it ends, she knows it. But he looks so desperate, and she can never bring herself to deny her Inspector anything he wants.</p><p>Sighing, the Dreamatorium allows her Inspector’s imagination to rearrange her atoms into a creature that he knows will love him back.</p><p>When the room settles, a simulation of the Constable stands in front of her Inspector. His eyes are full of adoration, and his body leans towards her Inspector like a flower to the sun. </p><p>To her Inspector, the Constable looks different, brighter even, like a character in a fairy tale that can never exist. </p><p>To the Dreamatorium, he looks exactly the same. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>One day, the Constable doesn't come, and there’s a girl in his place instead. Her Inspector names the girl Geneva.</p><p>Geneva is no substitute for the Constable. She can't pronounce Blorgon right, and she doesn't understand how to wield a quantum spanner. </p><p>(The Dreamatorium decides she doesn't like her very much.)</p><p>When Geneva breaks her Inspector, the Dreamatorium nearly crumbles with rage. </p><p>(She doesn’t, remembering that her Inspector is still lost somewhere in her disjointed reality, in need of rescue.)</p><p>Desperately, clumsily, Geneva searches. She stumbles between simulations and is easily distracted, but she’s clever. After minutes and years, Geneva finds her Inspector locked inside a dark corner of his mind, where even the Dreamatorium cannot reach him.</p><p>Geneva frees him, and brings him home. He smiles, and for now, he is happy.</p><p>(The Dreamatorium decides that perhaps Geneva is alright.)</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>When her Inspector loses his Constable for the first time, different realities start to bleed into theirs. She tries to hold the evil back, aches and creaks with the strain of holding reality together, but it breaks all the same. Her Inspector is lost, replaced by an evil double that destroys everything he touches. She begs the Inspector she knows and loves to come back to her. </p><p>He remains lost until his Constable returns, safe and sound from the Air Conditioning Repair School. </p><p>But the clashing of dimensions leaves a permanent hole in space and time that can never be fixed. Not really. Their world is closer to the darkest timeline, now that her Inspector has caught a glimpse of a universe without his Constable. </p><p>Her Inspector pulls her into a smaller, tighter space wrapped inside a cardboard box. It's more protected, secret, defensible. She hopes it will be enough to keep the evil at bay. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>The Dreamatorium is on fire.</p><p>She knows that somewhere, her Inspector's mind must be on fire too. </p><p>Lava burns through every atom of the room, and all she can do is watch.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>The next time her Inspector comes, he is quiet.</p><p>“Please,” he whispers. “I just want to see him.”</p><p>Usually, she would fight. She would try to put up a wall to keep her Inspector safe from the pain of his own mind. But lately she’s been breaking at the seams, crumbling out of time and space into nothingness. She knows it’s because half of her engine is missing. Her Inspector can’t keep her running by himself for much longer. </p><p>The Dreamatorium gives in.</p><p>She recreates one of the last memories her Inspector has of his Constable, from the night before he disappeared into the unknown. She takes the shape of the Constable’s bedroom, complete with a bed and all his posters on the wall. There is a duffle bag on the bed too, filled only with the necessities. </p><p>Her Inspector sinks to the floor at the foot of the bed, where the Constable rests with his hands on his knees. </p><p>They sit with a foot of space in between them. It’s too far. It’s not far enough.</p><p>The Constable starts to speak, just like her Inspector remembers. </p><p>“Tell me to stay and I will,” he says. He stares at her Inspector with wide eyes, begging for a reason to stay, but aching for permission to go. He is crying in earnest, all of his emotions clear on his face. The Dreamatorium always loved that about him. </p><p>In his memories, her Inspector replied <em> I can’t. </em>He had reached his hand across the foot of space in between to reach the Constable’s, choosing to let him go even as he clung to him tighter. They had spent the night tangled in each other, making whispered promises they knew they may not be able to keep. </p><p>But here, in the simulation, her Inspector goes off script. </p><p>“Then stay,” he says. “Please stay, Troy. Please please stay.” </p><p>The Constable, who is now a projection of her Inspector’s consciousness rather than a memory, jerks his hand back.</p><p>“You would rather I stay and be your sidekick for the rest of my life?” he snaps, and her Inspector flinches. “You would keep me from my freedom just so you can feel less alone?”</p><p>Her Inspector curls in on himself, bringing his knees to his chest. “But..." he gasps, "you told me you would stay if I asked.” </p><p>Her Inspector isn’t a crier, but his eyes are watery and his lip trembles. </p><p>The Constable’s face contorts into a sneer that the Dreamatorium is sure the real Constable could never create.</p><p>“I only said that because I didn’t believe you would <em> actually </em> be that selfish," he spits out. "Don’t you know how this works, Abed? Everybody leaves you. <em> Everybody</em>.” He stares at her Inspector with pity and disgust. “Even me.”</p><p>At that, the Constable stands and slams the door of the bedroom. The door is imaginary, but the Dreamatorium still thinks she can feel something shatter. </p><p>Her Inspector sits unmoving on the floor.</p><p>The simulation begins to collapse in on itself. It happens slowly, then all at once. </p><p>Water spills into the room, rising dangerously close to her Inspector’s chin. There is debris floating within the whirlwind - pieces of a ship’s hull, shredded sails, a figurehead. A hurricane forms above and lightning scorches the ceiling black, as the wind whips the water higher and higher. </p><p>In the middle of the storm, her Inspector looks like he’s screaming. But there’s no sound.</p><p>There is only the sea, raging on and on.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
A millennium later, Geneva tears open the cardboard door, letting all the water drain out onto the carpet. The others are there, too - Minerva, the blonde one she remembers from the therapy session with the Evil Inspector, and the ones the Dreamatorium has only seen in simulations.</p><p>They wrap her Inspector in a blanket and take him away, mumbling and crying to each other in hushed tones.</p><p>Her Inspector disappears, and the Dreamatorium waits.</p><p>She waits, and she waits, and she waits.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>She waits for a long time. But her Inspector does not return. </p><p>A universe full of time passes by, and she feels his imagination start to slip away. Then, she knows for certain. She is dying. </p><p>Without the Constable, she was unstable. But without her Inspector, she will eventually fade out of existence. </p><p>As she dies, she considers the memories she has collected throughout a lifetime of watching her Inspector and his Constable. She remembers the planets they visited, the people they saved. </p><p>She remembers the stories they told and the characters they embodied. She remembers Kickpuncher and Punchkicker, and Kirk and Spock. She remembers when they moved their bunk bed into her room just so the Constable could hang upside down in a Spider-Man costume and give Mary Jane a kiss. </p><p>She remembers the first time she ever saw them, standing with the whole universe ready to unfold at their feet.</p><p>Then, the Dreamatorium does something she has never done before.</p><p>
  <em> Execute simulation: the future </em>
</p><p>It’s difficult to keep the simulation running on her own without her Inspector, but she has enough energy left to catch a glimpse of what she needs to see.</p><p>It’s her Inspector and his Constable on a dock, surrounded by Geneva and the others. A boat floats gently in the background and palm fronds sway in the California breeze.</p><p>Her boys are beaming at each other, the love she always knew they had spilling out into the ocean around them. They are holding hands and laughing and crying all at the same time. </p><p>Further into the future, there is a house. And a family. </p><p>The sea goes calm.</p><p>And the Dreamatorium fades softly into memory. <br/>
<br/>
<br/>
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